


The Logical Thing To Do

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-25
Updated: 2006-02-25
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8065228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Trip invites T'Pol to dinner so that they can discuss the various apologies they owe each other. They arrive at the logical conclusion. Season 1 spoilers. (08/14/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers, 1.01-1.02 "Broken Bow," 1.04 "Strange New World," 1.05 "Unexpected," 1.08 "Breaking The Ice."

Most Trek fans are convinced that Vulcans can only have sex every seven years. The fact is that, barring unusual situations, they *must* have sex every seven years, which is not the same thing at all.

My source? The Great Bird of the Galaxy, himself.

In the early '70s, he gave a lecture at the local university. When it came time for the Q&A session, one fellow asked how he thought a species could survive if they only had sex every seven years.

His response was that pon farr occurred every seven years, but that he'd never said that that was the only time Vulcans could have sex. In fact, there was no biological reason why Vulcans couldn't have sex any time they thought it logical.

Which would go a long way to explaining how Amanda Grayson survived Sarek's lovemaking. If it had happened in the throes of pon farr, she would have been sqaushed like a bug as a result of Sarek's much greater and uncontrollable strength.

On another note, I have obviously fudged the timeline, a bit, to fit Sarek and Amanda's betrothal into this fic. It isn't by much, thoughâ€”maybe two decades at worst. "Enterprise" was originally announced as being set about 75 years before Kirk takes command of the Enterprise, and Spock was close to the same age as T'Pol, here, when he first served with Kirk. That the series is now officially set 112 years before Kirk takes command is a hiccough that I'm ignoring for the purposes of this fic.

What can I say, I'm just a slave to the ironic.

* * *

Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker III moved briskly down the corridor. T'Pol was off-shift and he felt the need to speak to her.

There were things going on in his mind that had him confused, and not a little disturbed, ever since she had chosen to forego her arranged marriage to someone named Kos, in order to remain aboard the Enterprise. There were other factors, too, and apologies owed by both parties, and Trip also found himself thinking that while T'Pol owed him an apology for her behaviour when he was pregnant, he owed her at least two. He arrived at her cabin and pressed the doorbell (or whatever the heck it was).

"Come."

As the door opened, Trip stepped into T'Pol's cabin. Her meditation candles were unlitâ€”he was not interrupting something important. He felt relieved. T'Pol looked up from a book.

"Commander Tucker, what can I do for you?"

"Well, Sub-Commander, I was wondering...Excuse me, but is that e e cummings?"  
"Yes, Commander. I have been told that one way to understand a species, is to study its arts. I understand poetry to be a good place to start. You were about to say...?"

"I was wondering if you would do me the honor of dining with me after shift, tomorrow. There are some things we need to talk about, and you may have noticed that we humans find it very easy to converse during a meal."

"I, too, have been thinking that we need to discuss some issues that have arisen between us. I believe your invitation to be the best manner in which to pursue this discussion."

"Great! How does 23:30 hours sound to you? We will be dining in the Captain's quarters, since he owes me a favor and will be working the graveyard shift for a few nights"

"That would suitable."

"Alrighty then. I'll see you then. And, if I may ask, aren't books a bit low-tech for Vulcans?"

"I find the heft of a book, and the smell of the pages, and the ink, are a great help in absorbing the material. The sense of smell is one of the major keys in remembering, after allâ€”even for Vulcans."

"Ahhh. Understood.

"Tomorrow, then..."

"Tomorrow."

The shift had been murderously dull. No M-class worlds, no comets, not even one crummy black hole. Worse, as duty officer for the shift, Trip was stuck on the bridgeâ€”away from his beloved engines, and in close proximity to T'Pol. He was itching for the relief crew to take over.

T'Pol, as usual, was at her station, bent over her scanner. Trip could hardly fail to notice that, as usual, she was uncommonly beautiful. Butterflies began to churn in his stomach.

Finally, Captain Archer stepped onto the bridge.

"Captain on the bridge," announced the engineer. No one stoodâ€”they had long ago settled into a procedure where they maintained their positions at their stations until every member of the next shift had arrived. Archer, as was his habit, was about ten minutes early.

"So, how was your shift, Trip?"

"About as dull as it gets, Captain. You can get all the lack of gory details from the duty log."

"Thank you, Commander. Sub-Commander?"

"Commander Tucker is correct sir. Absolutely nothing of interest occurred on this shift."

"Well, I hope that changes. I hate graveyards."

"Sir?" inquired T'Pol.

"I am required to command a certain number of graveyard shifts. Nothing ever happens on the graveyard shift, in most occupations, anyway..."

"Perhaps something will happen on this one."

"Thanks for the thought.

"Ah, here's your relief. Have a pleasant night, people. Dismissed.

"G'night, Captain," came a chorus of voices.

On his way to the Captain's quarters, Trip stopped off and checked with Chef. Everything had to be just right.

After being assured that his instructions had been carried out to the letter, Trip stopped, briefly at the Captain's quarters, to check that the setting was what he wanted, then proceeded to his quarters for a quick shower.

By 23:20, he was seated at the table in Archer's cabin. The lights were set at the Vulcan mid-afternoon level and two simple, white candles divided the table into thirds. The tablecloth was white with a silver border embroidered in waves that suggested an ocean. There place settings at each end of the tableâ€”what his mama called "the good china" (which included the silverware, but Trip had never asked how silverware could be considered chinaâ€”he knew better). In a small holder in the center of the table, three sticks of a particular Vulcan incense burnedâ€”not quite cinnamon-like, the scent should have helped Trip relax, but such was not the case.

At 23:29, precisely, the doorbell rang.

"Come in."

T'Pol entered and Trip's eyes widened. She was not in uniform. Instead, she wore a flowing robe of a silk-like material, sky blue in color. The only fastening was an obi at the waistâ€”at least that was the only thing he could compare it to.

Trip stood and moved to the other end of the table.

"Good evening, T'Pol," he said, as he pulled out her chair for her.

"Good evening, Commander," she replied, then sat down. Trip adjusted the chair  
as she sat, so that she was seated at exactly the right distance from the table (his mother would have been so proud, he thoughtâ€”her son, the gentleman).

As he returned to his seat, Trip pressed a button on the edge of the table. A moment later, Chef entered, followed by his assistant, Daniels, who carried a bottle and two glasses. Daniels set the glasses on the table and popped the cork from the bottle. He handed it to Chef, who in turn offered it to Trip. Trip inhaled and nodded.

T'Pol, whose sense of smell was much sharper than a human's, inhaled softly. The drink was not alcoholic, so she did not speak. She would let him spring his surprise.

Chef returned the approved bottle to Daniels, who moved to her glass and filled it, and then filled Trip's before both men withdrew.

Trip raised his glass.

"I'd like to propose a small toast."

She noddedâ€”amusement flickered behind her eyes.

"To communication," said Trip.

"To communication," echoed T'Pol.

They sipped their drinks. T'Pol looked across the table.

"This is excellent vleme, Commander."

"I'm glad you like it, T'Pol." Trip was determined to avoid addressing her by  
her rank for the evening and, so far, she hadn't made an issue of it.

"Your choice of incense is also particularly good. Ch'en is used in some of the more advanced forms of meditation."

"I know. I thought it might help us to relax enough to enjoy our conversation."

"Our discussion."

"Well, a good discussion is a conversation, is it not?" Trip smiled.

"Indeed."

Trip pressed the button again. Chef and Daniels reappearedâ€”Daniels bearing a tray upon which rested two small bowls and one larger one. The scent of old-fashioned French Onion Soup filled the air.

Daniels set the tray in the center of the table. Chef ladled soup into one bowl, which he placed before T'Pol, and then the other, which he set before Trip. Again, the two men silently departed.

T'Pol looked at the soup, inhaled, and then looked up at Trip.

"I do not believe that I have ever had this food before. What is it?"

"It's French Onion Soup. All vegetable ingredients. I thought you might enjoy  
tasting some Earth foodsâ€”I'm pretty sure that they didn't send out for much of it at the Vulcan Embassy."

"That is true," replied T'Pol as she inhaled again. "It smells quite acceptable." She raised her spoon and took a taste. "It is interesting." Another taste. "This is very good," she finally pronounced.

Trip's butterflies began to recede. This might just work out, he thought. During the soup course, the two talked about their time on Enterprise, carefully staying away from the subjects of the argument in the decon chamber, Trip's pregnancy (and T'Pol's reaction), and T'Pol's disengagement. When the soup was gone, Trip again summoned Chef and Daniels.

This time, the tray that Daniels carried bore a vegetable stir-fry. Daniels placed his tray on the table and, as he gathered up the soup bowls and spoons, Chef served the two the stir-fry. They departed.

Again, T'Pol inhaled and pondered this human dish.

"It's a stir-fry," explained Trip. "Usually, it would contain strips of meatâ€”chicken, beef, or whatever, but many humans prepare it as a vegetarian dish. I suggested to Chef that he use a bit of sesame oil in preparing this. It adds a distinctly nutty flavor that really enhances the individual flavors of the vegetables. There might also be a hint of ginger. Chef really likes ginger.

"Normally, we humans would eat it with chopsticks, but I didn't think that would be necessary this evening."

"If it is as good as it smells, this stir-fry will be eminently enjoyable." She took a forkful of the multi-colored dish and delicately placed it in her mouth.  
Again, she took a second taste before commenting.

"You humans aren't as backward as some Vulcans believe. This is very good."

"You sound surprised," teased Trip. "I think Mr. Velik would have liked you," he added.

"I am not sure that those two statements go together, Commander."

"Actually, they do. I'll explain after dinner."

"I shall, what is the human expression, hold you to that, Mr. Tucker."

"Mr. Tucker. Well at least it's better than Commander." Trip chuckled. During the entree, Trip and T'Pol discussed their backgrounds in Star Fleet and the Vulcan Diplomatic Corps. Then Trip sent for dessert.

Chef and Daniels left the cabin, T'Pol regarded her plate. She could not hide her pleasure. Pecan pie.

Trip saw her eyes light up and knew that somehow, he had persuaded her to try this, the ultimate of desserts. He knew that it had been her decision to break off her arranged engagement that had led to this, but he said nothing.

"You realize that this dessert is mostly sugar," said T'Pol, as she had said less than a week before.

"You bet," replied Trip. "Have you developed a sweet tooth?"

"I may have."

Trip smiled.

Daniels had cleared away the last of the dishes and departed under Chef's triumphant smile. Trip's butterflies were threatening to return. T'Pol, in the midst of only her second sugar rush, took the initiative. Like before, the effect of the pecan pie had given T'Pol a rush of endorphins and adrenalin, which she managed to hide behind her usual placid expressionâ€”but her hands trembled (too slightly for her human dinner partner to notice). 'This might work out', she thought.

"There are things we need to discuss, Mr. Tucker. I believe that I know what you meant when you said that."

"I believe you do," said Trip. "Before we get to the nuts 'n' bolts of it, though, let me tell you a little story."

"If it will help..."

"It willâ€”both of us. I promise."

"It all began with the decon gel. Check that, it all began with Mr. Velik..."

"I was in tenth grade biology when Mr. Samuels, our biology teacher, dropped a bombshell on the class: Mr. Velik, a Vulcan, was going to be teaching us about other species in our galaxy.

When Mr. Velik entered the classroom, I nearly freaked. I'd seen pictures of Vulcans, of course, but nothing prepared me for the reality. He was tall and lean and, with his upturned eyebrows, epicanthic folds and pointed ears, he almost looked like the Christian devil. The only thing that prevented a full resemblance to folklore descriptions, was his skinâ€”which had a faint greenish tinge, rather than the red that had become synonymous with Lucifer.

The Bible? Oh, that's a book of scriptures that form the basis for one of the major Earth religions, Christianity. For the purpose of my story, you only need to know that Lucifer, The Son of The Morning, came to be the symbol of ultimate evil, and that folklore developed that described him as a red-skinned being with pointed ears, slanted eyes and a tailâ€”which for all I knew, Mr. Velik could have been hiding beneath his robes. It sounds crazy, but my dad was seriously religious and I guess his fervor worked its way into my subconscious. Hence my initial response to Mr. Velikâ€”he scared the hell outta me.

For his first class, he gave us a lecture on Vulcan basics: the copper-based lifeform, the green blood, Surak's basic philosophy (he explained that it was more than just valuing logic over emotion, but said we didn't have the time to go into it in detail), the need for privacy in certain areas, and so forth. He closed that lecture with a challenge: 'Challenge your preconceptions, or they will challenge you.'

By the end of the class, I was no longer terrified. Scared, yes, but not to the depths of my soul, as I had been when he first entered the room. For most of the semester, Mr. Velik taught us about life on other planets. It was, to use his word, 'fascinating', and I got used to himâ€”even if the fear never completely went away.

Finally, about two weeks before the end of the semester, because Mr. Velik hadn't given us any further knowledge of Vulcan and its people, I decided to do something I'd never done before. I deliberately misbehaved in class. Understand that I was a bit of a class clownâ€”I made jokes about a lot of different things, over the course of my education. I got a lot of laughs and I got a few detentions. Detentions are a form of punishment where a student who misbehaves is required to stay in school for an extra period of time, usually a half-an-hour, or an hour. During this time, he is usually given an assignment like writing "I will not play jokes in school" on the blackboard however many times it can be written during the detention period. I was hoping to get a detention because I wanted to be alone with Mr. Velik. My dad always said the best way to rid yourself of your fears, was to face them.

So, I got the detention. Based on my behaviour, which is not relevant to this story, I was given an hour's worth of detention. When I reported to Mr. Velik for my detention, he asked me to take a seat in a desk at the front of the center rowâ€”directly in front of his desk. We were about as far away as you and I are when we're at our stations on the bridgeâ€”about twice the distance we are at this table. After we were both seated, Mr. Velik steepled his fingers on his desk, and peered at me for a moment.

'Did you know, Mr. Tucker,' he said, 'that animals really can smell fear? When a person is afraid, his pulse quickens, adrenaline flows, perspiration begins. Most animals, and many sentient species in the galaxy, having sharper senses than humans, can detect the odors that are peculiar to the particular combination of elements that are produced by fear. 'I am telling you this because I know you are afraid of me. I can smell it. Why am I telling you this? I shall explain later. In the meantime, I believe that you would like to ask me some questions. You may ask, but I may not answer, or I may not give you a complete answer. When I do answer, I will tell you the exact truth.

Will this be of some help to you?'

And so, I asked questions. Lots of questions. More than enough questions to know that I was taking unfair advantage of you in the decon chamber, for which I truly do apologize. But that's only a part of the story, so please allow me to continue.

I don't remember all the Vulcan names, but I learned about your coming of age ritualsâ€”the one for Vulcan males has a similarity to one that used to be common on our African continent. I learned why Vulcans don't shake hands, and try to avoid all physical contact with other intelligent species: something about minor telepathic gifts that are greatly provoked by physical contact. Most Vulcans prefer not to feel the emotions of others, so they avoid contact. It's a simple thing, but it explained so much. Then there was the matter of emotions.  
Mr. Velik explained that it's not that Vulcans don't have emotions, or at least most of themâ€”it's that they repress those emotions. Only a very few Vulcans have been able to completely eradicate their emotions, and it takes years and sometimes decades, of meditation, study and solitude to achieve Kohlinar.  
Our conversation lasted almost the entire hour. It might have gone the full hour, but Mr. Velik cut things short.

'You now know more about Vulcans than most humans ever will, and what you have learned is very little of what there is to learn.

'Our time here is almost over, and you will not get another opportunity like this. Should you require detention again, I will give you the typical assignment, and you will either spend the period writing at your desk, or on the blackboard. Now that you know where you stand, would you like to know why I allowed this detention to be genuinely educational?'

I said yesâ€”my momma didn't raise no fools. Pardon the double negative, it's a southern thing...Anyway...

'As I said at the beginning of detention, you are afraid of meâ€”less now than before, I notice.

'Since I knew you were afraid me, from my first day in this class, I had to believe that you would not be misbehaving without reason. After all, in any species that experiences emotions, even Vulcans, there are few who willingly seek out situations that heighten their natural fears.

'What good reason is there for placing oneself into such a situation?  
'Consider that fear is largely based on three things: difference, the unknown, and a combination of the first two.

'Before I continue, I should point out, in fairness, that virtually everyone in your class is afraid of me to some extent. I should also point out that none of your classmates has done anything to prompt me to spend time with them on an individual basis.

'Now, let's return to our discussion of fear, and your motivation in seeking detention, this afternoon.

'I am different. I am not human. I am, to you, The Unknown. It is small wonder that you are afraid of me.

'And so we come to your motivation: because I am so different, resembling as I do, one of your symbols of Ultimate Evil, and yes, I know about the scriptures of your various religions, you decide that I might not be so fearsome if you can gain some understanding of me and my people. To this end, you misbehave and are given detention. We are thus required to spend an hour in each other's company.  
'Your logic is nearly flawless, and your courage is to be commended.

'I could have given you a typical detention assignment, but you were hoping that I would be intrigued by your mischief in class, and your obvious desire to be given detention. Perhaps my instruction has shown you that the one flaw in most Vulcans' emotional control, is curiosityâ€”though few Vulcans would ever admit to it.

'However you came to this course of action, it has been beneficial to both of us.

'You have learned about me and my people. I have seen, in a human student, courage, resourcefulness and an exercise of logic that would befit a Vulcan student.

I commend you, Mr. Tucker.

'Our time is up.'

He stood up, and came around his desk. As I stood, he offered me his hand.  
Now that I knew what that must mean to him, I shook hands with him.

'Challenge your preconceptions, Mr. Tucker,' he said.

'Or they will challenge you,' I replied.

I could have sworn I saw a twinkle in his eye and it was at that moment that I discovered that Vulcans have got a sense of humorâ€”something I had forgotten until we found that M-class world with the psychotropic spores. Your comment about the Captain taking more pictures was a reminder. I never spoke with Mr. Velik, outside of class, again. And the behaviour of your scientists and diplomats, in the way they dangled knowledge before us like a carrot before a stubborn donkey, gradually replaced everything that Mr. Velik had taught me with a mild form of paranoia and resentment. Then, when you were going to return us to Earth, after the Captain was injured, I remembered what Mr. Velik had said about Vulcan telepathic gifts. While we were in the decon chamber, I deliberately took my time applying the decon gel, and moved as slowly and as gently as I could. I figured that I might not have the most effective argument, but I for damn sure, would have the strength of emotion to influence your decision. It was unprofessional, and worse, it was a violation of your person. I cannot even begin to apologize enough. That was much worse than reading your mail, and I doubt I'll ever forgive myself for that."

T'Pol sat, silently, for several seconds.

"I wondered about that," she said. "Your ploy didn't work quite as you intended, but the strength of your loyalty, and your conviction that you were right, did affect my decision to continue on, rather than return to Earth. You are right, however, about my being violated. I can forgive you for one reason, and one reason only, and this holds true for your decrypting of my letterâ€”from your point of view, and in those specific situations, your actions were completely logical. I cannot argue with logic. Therefore you are forgiven."

As T'Pol spoke, Trip watched her eyes carefully. Was that a glimmer of emotion he detected? A softness that might hint at some connection? Dare he even consider the possibility of affection?

"And then there is the matter of my apology," continued T'Pol. "I am not quite certain about that. I have never associated with humans before, so I have likely given cause for offense, but I do not know the specific one to which you are referring."

Trip chuckledâ€”T'Pol looked puzzled.

"Aw, c'mon, T'Pol! Surely you remember your jealous period?"

"Jealous period? I don't think so, Commander!"

"I guess you do, otherwise you wouldn't be angry that I mentioned it."

"What are you talking about?'

"Remember my pregnancy?"

"I repeat, what are you talking about?"

"Lemme think a moment, I want to get this right...

"'Three days', you said, 'You were only there for three days and you couldn't control yourself?'...Or how about, ' I imagine that's a question of how you define gentleman!'...Or maybe, 'This engineer wanted you to see her planet? Perhaps the next step would have been for you to meet her holographic parents. If I'm not mistaken, on some planets, that's a precursor to marriage.'...Then there was my personal favorite, 'One of the first things a diplomat learns, is not to stick his fingers where they don't belong...'

T'Pol found herself squirmingâ€”a thoroughly unfamiliar, and unpleasant sensation.

"See, I figure that smell is as important as you said, for remembering, and for other things: smelling fear, picking up on pheromones, that kind of thing. And you have a much a much sharper sense of smell than a human, even with your nasal inhibitors. So, I'm thinking that maybe it's a purely physical response that got exacerbated by our encounter in the decon chamber. Whatever, I looked into your eyes and there was something going on there. You were not behaving logically. And, as you will recall, Mr. Velik explained to me about Vulcan emotion..."

"May I be blunt?"

"Why stop now?"

"Thank you. I will admit that there was something about you that intrigued me from the moment we metâ€”pheromones, no doubt. I will even admit that your behaviour in the decon chamber did have an effect on me. I cannot explain my behaviour during your pregnancy, it was not like me. I was, in fact, jealous. I cannot deny it. I apologize for the way I treated youâ€”the things I said. I have no explanation."

"Remember when we talked about your betrothal? You said that Vulcan mates were expected to develop an affection over time. Y' don't suppose that somehow, you've developed that kind of an affection for me?"

"Explain."

"You know what I'm saying, T'Pol. You don't get jealous unless you think you might lose your mate to another person. You don't just flout centuries of tradition as easily as you seem to have done. More, you have admitted to the emotion of jealousy, which means that you did think, somewhere in your subconscious at least, that you were losing me."

"I cannot argue with your logic. But what about you?"

"Me?"

"Absolutely. You have behaved, towards me, in a manner that suggests you also have feelings for me.

"Your behaviour in the decon chamber was far more sensuous than it needed to be to make the emotional impact you required. You noticed my attempt at humor when no one else seemed to do so. Your behaviour, under the influence of the psychotropic spores, was far greater than the others, and your hostility was aimed at me. I am told that there is a fine line between love and hate, and that your comment about splitting me in two has certain other connotations.  
"Then there was your anger at my jealousyâ€”it was not just outrage at being chastisedâ€”it was more personal...As if you were being betrayed by someone you cared about.

"And your advice about my marriage may have been logical from a human standpoint, but it was not an entirely logical response, given our unique circumstances."

When Trip finished picking his jaw up off the floor, and making sure it was properly aligned, he took a deep breath.

"I have no idea how this happened. When I came aboard the Enterprise, I was suspicious of Vulcans, and in some instances, your behaviour didn't help with thatâ€”until I saw the motivations behind it, annnnd we are talking way too much. The real question is, what are we going to do about this?"

T'Pol blinked. Then she stood and walked around the table. She cupped Trip's chin and raised his head so that they were looking into each other's eyes. "There are things that you must eventually learn, if we are to properly explore this thing that exists between us. For now, however, there is only one logical thing to do."

For a moment, Trip sat perfectly still, his eyes locked on T'Pol's.

He wanted to scream, "I'm no good at relationships! Every time I try, it ends badly!" But his mouth was so dry, he couldn't have said anythingâ€”let alone screamed.

Then it dawned on him that she was tiny. Not so much in height, but in build. She had small bones, and moved in a precise manner. He'd never noticed because she'd never allowed herself to be so vulnerable beforeâ€”she was usually so sure of herself. Now, the precision of her motion seemed a mask, behind which, she was uncertain about how to proceed.

He placed his hand over hers, and moved it up to his lips, kissing the palm, very delicatelyâ€”opening his lips just enough for his tongue to flick out and taste her. Her skin was much warmer than the human norm, but where he had expected it to be dry, it was faintly moist. Her perspiration tasted metallicâ€”must have been the copper-based blood. Her hand trembled, slightly, at his touch.

Trip realized that he wasn't the only one who was nervous.

Funny, he thought, I'd never have thought a Vulcan could be nervous.

Still holding her hand, he stood, and escorted her back to her chair. Her eyes seemed to be asking him what was happening.

"I'll just send for Daniels. We shouldn't leave a mess on the Captain's table." Trip returned to his seat and pressed the button again.

A moment later, Daniels entered and removed the dishes, candles and cloth from the table and departed. The instant the door closed behind him, Trip was on his feet. So was T'Pol.

This time, it was Trip who crooked a finger under her chin and raised her head until she was looking into his eyes.

"I'm not sure I agree that this is the only logical thing to do. I think it's just the logical thing to do." And he kissed her.

At first, their lips barely touched, tickling like windswept fluff from a birch tree. Then their lips parted and their tongues met, flicking gentlyâ€”butterflies playing tag. Finally, they became bold and assertiveâ€”their tongues teasing, taunting, retreating and coming back for more.

For what seemed like an eternity, all they did was hold onto each for dear life as their kiss threatened to literally fuse them together. Then, with a gasp, they broke apart.

"That was...interesting," said T'Pol, with just a hint of breathlessness. Her eyes had gone from their usual deep brown, to a kind of molten chocolate. Trip looked into them and groaned, inwardly. How could he possibly deserve the honor she was giving him? More importantly, why was she doing this?

From her point of view, logic was far more important than emotion. From his, it was just the opposite. And yet, he could see the emotion behind her eyes and every fiber of his being told him that the two of them just made sense. From his heart to his mind, he was sure of it. Whatever his doubts and fears, this felt right.

"I have an idea," he said. "If your quarters are like mine, your shower is so small that it's almost impossible for one person to shower properly, let alone two.

"And I notice that the Captain has a nice, large shower..."

"You showered before we met for dinner, as did I," said T'Pol, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

"This isn't about cleanliness," replied Trip. "Don't move, I'll be right back!" And with that, he dashed out of the Captain's quarters.

When he returned, minutes later, he was carrying a small vial and a change of clothingâ€”a white t-shirt and brushed denim jeans. T'Pol was standing exactly where he had left her. It was his turn to flash a questioning look...

"You did say not to move," she said, but there were glimmerings of mischief behind her eyes.

"You have a warped sense of humor, T'Pol."

"Thank you. Now, please explain about the shower."

"I'll do better than that, I'll show you."

So saying, he stripped off and hopped into the shower. T'Pol noted, again, that he had certainly spent a lot of time in the gymnasium. He almost had the musculature of a runnerâ€”lean and wiry, but with a bit more breadth to the chest and abs, and definitely more development through the arms and shoulders.  
She also noticed that his penis was erect.

"Join me," he said.

T'Pol let her robe slide to the floor and stepped daintily into the shower.

Trip forgot to breathe.

She was magnificent. Half of her seemed to be legsâ€”long smoothly muscled legs, legs capable of running the hundred in record time. Her feet were small and delicate, even pretty (and Trip had never really been into feet, so they had to be spectacular).

Trip raised his eyes, mesmerized by the way her legs flowed perfectly into hips that swelled just enough to be right for childbirth, but not too much to be disproprotionate. The patch of pubic hair held his attention for just a secondâ€”long enough to detect a hint of moisture. Then he was moving up to her narrow waist and tiny navel (he was surprised by thatâ€”it hadn't occurred to him that an alien race would require...but that was for later). Her breasts were round and firm, improbably so considering that they were a bit large for her frame. Then he recalled that gravity on Vulcan was a bit stronger than on Earth, and that the Enterprise was running at .97 Earth normal.

The thing that stood out in his mind, was that her nipples, and they were definitely hard, were almost an emerald green. Green blood'll do that, he thought.

He set the shower for Vulcan body temperature plus five degrees, Celsius.  
T'Pol looked up at him.

"I'm not sure what the purpose of this would be," she said.

"It's part of a long and involved process called 'foreplay'," replied Trip.  
"I'll show you, turn around."

He had taken the small vial into the shower, and now, as the hot spray struck their bodies, he poured a strange liquid into one hand. Closing the vial (and setting it in the shower's soapdish), he rubbed his hands together for a second and then began to massage T'Pol's back. She stood in the spray, at attention.

"That smells odd. What is it?" asked T'Pol.

"It's my own private blend of massage oilâ€”half John & Johnson's Baby Oil and half Tiger Balm."

"Tiger Balm?"

"It's an herbal remedy for everything from dry skin to headachesâ€”applied externally. With the baby oil, it's also an excellent massage oil.

"But enough talk..."

He started at her shoulders and gently spread and separated their tight muscles. She flinched, slightly. Small wonder, he thought. The tensions brought on by constant suppression of emotion couldn't be small, and she wouldn't have had any meditation time, after her shift. This probably hurt a bit.

Slowly he worked his way down her back. Slowly, because the entirety of her musculature was tied up in knots. But eventually, the muscles unclenched, at least a bit.

When he reached the base of her spine, he gently ran the knuckles of one hand up one of the ridges of her spinal column, and then down the other. She shivered.  
He leaned in slightly, and kissed the nape of her neckâ€”again tasting her with the tip of his tongue. She shivered again, but remained standing at attention.

"Y'know, darlin', the whole point of foreplay is to relax and, if I'm not being blasphemous here, enjoy."

"If I relax, I will almost certainly fall over," came the husky reply.

"I'd never let that happen," said Trip. "Trust me." And he moved his magic hands down to her glutes.

With what could have been a gasp, or a sob (Trip couldn't really tell), T'Pol braced her arms against the shower wall and let go of her physical control. Her knees quivered as Trip massaged her glutes and, briefly, tickled her anus. For a second, she thought she really was going to fall over, but, true to his word, Trip wrapped one arm around her waist and held her upright.

"You all right?" he asked, as she panted quietly.

"I think so. This is most fascinating. Please continue." Trip smiled.

Kneeling, he began to work his way down one leg. T'Pol was still shivering, but seemed to be fairly stable.

"Turn around."

She did, and Trip began working his way back up her other leg.

"If you feel like you're going to fall over, lean forward, I'll catch you."

"Less talk, more continuing," replied T'Pol. Trip's fingers were doing things to her nervous system that she had never experienced before. She wondered if this was anything near what pon farr felt like.

After awhile, Trip arrived at the junction of her legs. His fingers moved along her thighs and around her vagina, without touching it, to her abdomen, and back to her thighs.

Then, for just a second, he brushed her lips, searching out her clit and grazing it with his thumb. Her hands grabbed his shoulders, hard. Her breathing quickened noticeably.

He moved back up to her abdomen, massaged her abs and her belly and came up her chest. As he moved upward, T'Pol's grip on his shoulders lessenedâ€”her arms going around his neck and gaining support from his rising body as he once again stood before her.

When he cupped her breasts, her breathing again quickened.

He cupped the undersides of her breast for a few seconds, while she regained a bit of composure, then continued his massage. He squeezed her breasts gently, spending a good length of time on their undersides before moving upward again, to her nipples.

He tweaked her nipples and rolled them in the palms of his hands, enjoying the feel of their hardness.

As he played with her breasts, he looked into T'Pol's eyes. She was panting, and her eyes were almost pleading with him. He kissed her again, and in this time, she was as aggressive as he had been the first time. Her tongue searched every square centimeter of his mouth and left fire wherever it touched.

Trip broke the kiss.

"Your turn," he gasped.

T'Pol heard the words. She even comprehended them. But still she stood, eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming hover.

"T'Pol?" There was something in his eyes, she thought. Fear? Worry?

She blinked. And looked into Trip's eyes again.

When did he become "Trip", to me? she wondered.

"Turn around," was what she said. And he did.

T'Pol began by working the muscles of his shoulders, gently, with her fingertips. She wondered at the lack of tension there. She had been tired up in nots.

She leaned forward and kissed the nape of his neckâ€”and was rewarded by a sight shiver. It made her think.

"Fascinating," she said.

"Hmmm?"

"We are different species. Our lifeforms are based on different elements. Our organs are placed differentlyâ€”Vulcans even have one that humans do not. And yet..."

"Don't stop now! Either..."

T'Pol's fingers resumed the massage, while she continued, "And yet, our bone structures and nervous systems are virtually identical. The same is true of Klingons and Andorians, among others."How does that feel?" she asked, as her palms pressed against his shoulder blades and manipulated the muscles in broader, deeper strokes.

"Very nice. More than very nice," he paused. "Are you sure you've never done this before?" There was laughter in his voice, so T'Pol felt no need to respond.  
She moved down his back, rubbing, caressing, even licking. Also enjoying the tremors that coursed through his body as she moved lower.

Remembering how he had teased her, she stopped just above his cheeks and began to move back upward, drawing lines with her fingertips, along his spine. His breath quickened and a moan escaped him.

"Take the nerves along the spinal cord," T'Pol's fingers seemed to hit every major nerve along his spine, "when you did this to me, I felt a sensation that I've never felt before. It seems that you are enjoying a similar sensation from my stimulation of the exact same nerves along your spine."This is curious, don't you think?"

Trip's whole body had become a giant goosebump! Even so, he couldn't help but notice that her voice was huskier than usual and that there was a definite undercurrent of teasing in her inflections.

What have I done? he thought. And man, does this feel good!

By now, T'Pol had moved back down Trip's back and was caressing his cheeks. Following his example and going him one better, she spread them and darted her tongue into the cleftâ€”tickling his anus. His response was remarkably similar to hers. The taste intrigued her, so she flicked again. His knees quivered but did not, quite, buckle.

T'Pol allowed herself a tight, controlled half-smile. This must be what pon farr is like! she thought, wondering at how the emotions that were racing through her could feel so good.

Again following Trip's lead, she worked down one leg, and back up the other, marveling at how human musculature was somewhat bulkier than the Vulcan, and yet ever so pleasing to the eye.

"Turn around," she said, as she began to work up the other leg.

"Crom's Blood! That feels good!"

"I had an excellent instructor."

By the time she reached his thighs, T'Pol's hands had seemed to develop a mind of their own. They moved towards his penis with what he felt was a deliciously deliberate pace.

When they arrived, one moved to grasp his erection, while the other moved to cup his testes. He looked down at her and saw something approaching delight and hunger in her eyes. He groaned.

T'Pol leaned forward and rubbed his cheek against his cock. Her Vulcan body heat had a strangely stimulating effect on him.

"After we've looked at the nearly identical configuration of our nervous systems and bone structures, we look again at our exterior configurations," she spoke in a much huskier voice now; giving pleasure was having an altogether unexpected effect on her â€” the sensations that Trip had given her seemed to be amplified by her returning of similar sensations to him. She continued to rub her cheek against his erection â€” the cool, smooth hardness was strangely comforting, as well as stimulating.

"We have virtually identical physical shells: two arms, two legs â€” both in the same proportion to the our bodies; bodies which are proportionately identical in the configuration of head and torso, as well as limbs."

"The...the...dif...differences can be explained by the different environments in which our species evolved," gasped Trip.

His reply startled T'Pol.

'Remarkable,' she thought. 'Even under extreme physical stimulation, to the point of total distraction, Trip can carry on a complex conversation with intelligence. Clearly, there is much more to Humans than we had previously surmised.'

"Correct, Trip," she said, then hoped he hadn't noticed her slip. "Vulcan ears are shaped differently in order to catch and amplify more sound in our thinner atmosphere."

"And your epicanthic folds, unlike those of our Asian peoples, hide a second, transparent, eyelid, which can be closed to protect your eyes during the severe dust storms on Vulcan."

"Correct, again."

"And I like that you called me Trip," he said. "It sounds especially good coming from you." Startled, T'Pol's grip on Trip's cock tightened.

With a shudder, he cameâ€”his ejaculate splashing her face.

"Well, that is unfortunate," she said, raising her face to the shower spray to rinse it off.

"Geez, T'Pol! I'm sorry! It's just that you're so hot!"

"Had I known that my higher body temperature was going to be a factor..."

"No, no, no! Not heat hot!"

Trip saw the eyebrow arch. Quickly, he continued.

"Hot: gorgeous, sexy.. hot! Hot enough, that I feel like this is definitely not the end! So, would you help me out here, and keep going. Please?"

T'Pol looked up at him. He was smiling â€” like he knew something she didn't, which was entirely possible. So, even as Trip's cock began to soften, T'Pol began to nuzzle, caress and lick her way up his body, placing fluttering kisses over his abs, swirling her tongue in his navel and nibbling on his nipples.  
When she reaching his collarbones, she copied his trick with the hollows formed by his rolling his shoulders forward. She was pleased to note that his response was much the same as hers shuddering and gasping his pleasure. She moved back a touch and tilted her head back, reaching with one hand to draw him into another sizzling kiss.

As the kiss deepened, she felt his cock beginning to twitch. He was getting hard again! Who knew? Finally, he broke the kiss.

"I think it's time we adjourned to another cabin. It wouldn't do to have the Captain's shift end and him find us sleeping in his bed." Trip's eyes twinkled, mischievously, like he would have loved to see the Captain's face under those circumstances.

"Agreed," replied T'Pol, as she reached to turn off the water.

Trip grabbed a towel and began drying her.

She shivered as he paid special attention to her breasts, before moving lower.  
He enjoyed the feel of her body, quivering beneath his avid ministrations. As he moved the towel lower, he also took a few seconds to flick her nipples with his tongue.

"Mmmmmmm", she purred, finally letting go enough to revel in the waves of pleasure that she continued to feel. Trip smiled â€” a warm, happy smile.

As he finished drying her, she stepped out of the shower and reached for the second towel. This time, she smiled.

Later, Trip could never remember just how he and T'Pol had managed to get from Archer's cabin to hers.

He remembered the way she had taken a towel and dried him as sensually as he had done her, and he distinctly recalled the way her eyes had lit up when his erection returned.

Between then and lighting candles in her room, he couldn't tell you what had happened.

"These candles are for meditation," T'Pol protested, as Trip proceeded to lit each of them in turn.

"What we are doing, is a kind of meditation," he replied. "The physical sex act, between two people who genuinely care about each other, is the deepest, most intimate communication they can share. If that's not meditation, I don't know what is."

He finished lighting the last candle and turned to T'Pol. She was seated on the edge of her bed, wearing just her robeâ€”the sash undone. Beautiful, he thought, as he pulled his t-shirt over his head. Out of respect to T'Pol, he folded the shirt neatly and set it on a cushion on the floor. The he stripped off his jeans and folded them, too.

Naked, he stepped to the bed and, as she stood, helped remove her robe, which he hung in a small closet that was situated at the end of the bed. Then he kissed her again, and enjoyed the eagerness of her response.

This time, when he broke the kiss, he did not move down her body. Instead, he moved to one ear and begain to nibble the tip. A sudden tremor let him know that Vulcan ears were as senstive to physical stimulation as Terran ones.

He smiled as he tickled her ear with his tongue, and exhaled, ever-so-gently, a slow breath into the shell-like orifice. He wasn't sure, but he thought that T'Pol whimpered. He smiled, and began working his way down along her jaw, toward her mouth, where he once again parted her lips with his tongue.

The kiss lasted for an eternity.

The couple's hips began to move against each other, as though they were separate entities.

Trip felt the much greater warmth of T'Pol's belly against his erection; she felt the smooth, cool hardness of his penis against her stomach. The contrast in body temperatures further fueled their desire.

Next, Trip repeated his oral journey down her body, but this time, he wasn't teasing. He spent eons licking, nibbling and sucking on her breasts; his tongue left trails of scorching coolness all around her navel and dipping toward her loins.

He took as much time to trace the vee of her thighs, as he had to fully explore her breasts. When he finally began to zero in on her vagina, T'Pol was convinced that her heart was about to explode.

But he wasn't even beginning to work on her.

He licked around her labia, not quite touching the outer lips. He stroked her thighs, and glutesâ€”and blew gently on her lips. With his thumbs, he began to stroke them, as he slo-o-o-owly began to move them apart and his lips and tongue circled ever closer to their goal.

Gradually, his tongue reached her outer lips and began to press inside. Her hands clutched at his head.

As he moved inexorably towards her clit, he began to probe her vagina with one finger. Raising his head for a few seconds, he said, "Let's see how closely our nervous systems resemble each other. Earth women have a point of ultimate sexual stimulation called the "G-Spot". He added another finger and moved his lips back to her clit.

A few seconds later, T'Pol reached her first multiple orgasm.

This cannot be pon farrâ€”I am completely aware! But I do not care! she thought.

"It seems that Vulcan women have a similar point," laughed Trip, as he stood and helped T'Pol lay back on the bed.

He moved into place above her, and, without even thinking about it, she guided him into her. "Whoa!" he gasped. "That's hot." He flexed his ass cheeks and pulled back slightly.

"Oh!" gasped T'Pol, in turn. "That is so cool!"

Trip moved back into her, and withdrew a little more. T'Pol moved her hips to match the rhythm he was setting up.

"Int...int.. interesting," she sputtered. "These sensations..." she trailed off as Trip picked up the pace.

"Oh, Crom! I'm...!" cried Trip as waves of pleasure swept through him.

T'Pol felt another explosion of pleasure looming, and placed the fingers of one hand against Trip's face, in a certain sacred and secret way.

Suddenly, Trip found himself being the one on the bottom, the female Vulcan who had spurned centuries of tradition because of an Earthman; the burning receptacle of the smooth, cool, hard and welcome invader. He felt something that he could have never really believed possibleâ€”a connection on emotional and spiritual planes. She respected him and loved him! He experienced her willing loss of control and the concept of pon farr. He knew that it was not pon farr that she was experiencing, but that, still, they were now biologically and emotionally mated. T'Pol found herself experiencing the confusion, and pleasure that were overwhelming Trip. She felt the incredible warmth of her vagina welcoming his exhilaratingly cool shaft; the joy that he felt in their unexpected connection; she felt his sense of loss and pain at his failed relationships, and his desire to make sure that this one would succeed. She even understood his use of a fictional deity as an expletive. And she realized that what she was experiencing was not pon farrâ€”though it was certainly a form of mating.

Looking at each other through the other's eyes not only opened Trip and T'Pol up to their thoughts and emotionsâ€”they amplified them.

As both reached their peaks and began to orgasm in unison, their mouths found each other and the kiss was enough to bring them pleasure that neither had dreamed possible.

When the last paroxysms of pleasure had begun to fade, Trip rolled over onto his back, pulling T'Pol along so that she was lying atop him.

"What the hell was that?" he asked.

She told him, and miracles of miracles, he understood!

The next morning, both Trip and T'Pol slept in. Fortunately, it was a free day for both of them, so no one would remark on their absence from the bridge.

When T'Pol awoke, she found herself spooned by Trip, who was watching her. For some reason, this made her feel safe. She found that the feeling was not entirely disagreeable.

For his part, Trip had awakened almost an hour before T'Pol and had spent that hour just watching her sleep. He hadn't done anything like that in years. He enjoyed it.

Without a word, they arose together and wedged themselves into her tiny shower. There was no attempt to continue their physical explorations of the previous evening, but they were still comfortableâ€”each washed the other's back, and their proximity felt right.

Before Trip headed back to his cabin, he gave T'Pol a brief kiss and was pleased to feel her respond like it was the most natural of things to do.

Trip entered his cabin and looked around. He began to pick up after himselfâ€”neatness had not been one of his priorities, but if he was to ever entertain T'Pol in his cabin...

While he got things organized, he pondered the fact that T'Pol's mind meld had not really bothered him. Given his long-ago session with Mr. Velik, he found that he had half expected that something like that had to exist. The only thing that bothered him was the way T'Pol had opened herself up to himâ€”he hoped he could prove worthy of such trust.

After he left, T'Pol methodically dressed and began to put her cabin in order. The bed was made, the candles replaced. Then, she lit the new candles and composed herself for meditation on this new and peculiar relationship in which she found herself.

One thing was for certainâ€”she would never be a candidate for Kolinahr, but given the way things had gone with Trip, she didn't think that Kolinahr was right for her, anyway.

Over the next several weeks, the rest of the bridge crew noticed a gradual change in the behaviour of Sub-Commander T'Pol and Commander Charles 'Trip' Tucker.

True, they had their differences of opinion on a good many topics, ranging from the composition of landing parties, to dealing with first contact situationsâ€”and these differences of opinion were usually accompanied by the usual raised voices, raised eyebrows, and exaggerated sighs. In short, the two would seem as fractious as ever, but...

More and more often, they seemed to be in accord. Their day-to-day behaviour in regard to each other no longer caused T'Pol to assume an even more rigidly formal posture, or display the Arched Eyebrow of Contempt, while Trip seemed to be more and more of the "Southern Gentleman" in his behaviour towards her.  
Even though the Enterprise was, in essence, a small townâ€”and a place where everyone knew what everyone else was doing, it seemed that no one could explain their appreciably more amicable relationship. In fact, no one even seemed to realize that what they were seeing was, in fact, a couple in a relationship.  
All they knew was that Commander Tucker, whose dislike (and distrust) of Vulcans was second only to the Captain's, was gradually becoming more open to input from the ship's Science Officer. That they were glad, was obvious. Bridge duty was no longer a place where reporting crewmembers had to be wary of laserbeam stares and not-so-subtle digs. The tension level on the bridge had dropped more than enough to make it an almost comfortable place to be (it would never truly be comfortableâ€”there was too much going on for that, but at least the tension was now mission-centricâ€”a very good thing for all concerned).

Three months after their first "liason", Trip was sitting, yoga-style, on a cushion in T'Pol's cabin as she read a recently decrypted message from home.  
A soft rumbling in the back of her throat caught his attention.

"What's up, T'Pol?"

"My mother writes that there is an historic event coming up, that I think you will find interesting."

"I'm all ears," he replied, enjoying, as always, the Raised Eyebrow of Reproval that T'Pol flashed him whenever he used the expression.

"I cannot believe that I have developed an affection for you," she replied evenly, the corners of her mouth moving just enough to suggest the phantom of a ghost of the beginning of a smile.

"Go on."

"It was announced this morning, that a mid-level diplomat named Sarek has announced his intention to marry a human femaleâ€”one Amanda Grayson.

"There is a brief account of his career highlights, and her backgroundâ€”both of which are most impressive."

"Well, m'dear, I have to agree about the unlikihood of our "developing an affection" for each other. That said, I'm willing to let them bask in the glory of their historic actions. How about you?"

"All things considered, it does seem the logical thing to do."

Trip rose and stepped over to his most unexpected lover, looking deep into the phantom of a ghost of a smile that was hiding behind her perfect eyes...


End file.
